


We're Going Down

by savaged



Category: Regular Show
Genre: Bromance, Drama, Drug Use, Friendship, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rated M for later Chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:38:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mowing the lawn, cleaning the hose, cutting dead roses, peeking Rigby from the hallway doing his hair, brown locks loose upon his forehead, biting red lips... And, where was he again? Ah, yeah, he's totally straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Rigby!" he starts once again, shaking the brown haired boy by the shoulder. Lying on the ground, seeming taller in that position, Mordecai doesn't stop to think for a second before he leans against the quiet chest of his best friend, waiting for a beat. He runs his hands through the wrinkled dark T-shirt past his belly and feels a little wriggle; Mordecai quickly draws, frantic and expectant at the least signs of consciousness.

"Rigby?"

He reaches for his mouth, near the hollow part of Rigby's neck and perceives the heat flowing from him. Mordecai wanders in his mind around every place Rigby might have been last night, every person he could have been with and feels the pang right into an unlocated spot of his chest. He shakes away the feeling focusing in more important and urgent subjects. Rigby shudders, and starts to move his upper limbs getting familiar with the surroundings; his eyelids open slowly getting stabbed by the sunlight, an expression of pain and distaste. The face of a raw hangover.

"Told ya."

 

"Ah! Am I the first person to pass out after getting drunk? Excuse you! I was hoping for you to come rescue me! Next time make sure to warn you'll ditch me."

"Oh, common, Rigby! I didn't-" words get stuck in Mordecai's throat when he pictures Margaret and Rigby, both standing at the door of the living room. Warm light falling on them and a seductive hand surrounding a skinny hip, more laughs. A glimpse of the eyes. They take each other's hand and head to the bedroom. "You better make sure to warn me next time _you_ ditch me."

"What are you talking about?"

Mordecai slowly stands up and walks back. His friend, still struggling to sit up, frowns and calls with a hand movement towards the blue haired-tall guy. "Come help me stand up!"

"Fuck you, Rigby."

 

-

The afternoon goes by pretty slow. He's down and tired, locked in the dark room of heavy air and clouds of pot ignoring the great weather outside and dense random chores Benson has given him. They're all time-wasting little chores to keep him busy rather than working, and Benson is far away now, deep in his paperwork office furrowing his brow, as always. Helpless. He's never gonna change.

Skips and Pops are out of town for a picnic in a country house, and Muscle Man went to a smelly rock concert with High Five's, which would take them both afternoon and night -and hopefully, late night, if that meant not having to see them in the morning.

Mordecai realizes he's all alone once the THC levels in his body lower a bit and shakes the feeling of dryness in his mouth deciding to take a beer from the kitchen stash. Benson got tricked into thinking the packages were boxes of soda cans, and Skips himself laughed when he found out. Long story short, Rigby would be there to recall the funny moment... And out of nowhere, he's standing there by the corner.

"What did you mean 'fuck me'? You just don't swear, like, ever."

"So? _Fuck_ you. And fuck whatever and whoever you want now, just fuck off."

Rigby puts himself in front of Mordecai, grabbing a beer can first, "what's wrong with you? You won't share?"

"Look who's speaking, the world's number one douchebag."

"What? Mordecai, you... You're just  _jealous_ from last night!"

The guy shoves Rigby to a side and fetches the can with a violent grab. Rigby doesn't let him take it and goes backwards swerving, hitting the counter's edge; "ow! Dude, my back..."

"Was it good? Being with her, did you like it?"

"Mordecai, stop."

"Why? You're always asking about my stuff, why can't I ask that? Why can't I ask how was it like to have her?"

"It's just not right!"

"What was not right? Using her as a sex toy or making me see the situation? Do you even realize how that makes me feel? Did you think about that?"

Rigby sighs and leans back. A long glare in silence; he opens the can and brings it to his mouth drinking avidly. The bubbles dance and jump on his tongue, going down his throat within more arguments. After a while, Mordecai has his eyes still fixed on him. Rigby mutters "I didn't know how it'd make you feel. How am I supposed to know? I don't have the guts to ask, y'know? I'm not gay."

Mordecai winces. He prayed to God for Rigby to play along with the idea of Mordecai being jealous of Margaret, and also prayed that the short guy ignored how his brown eyes opened every morning looking jaded of not getting enough sleep while Mordecai had been watching him snooze since who knows how much time before.

Mordecai switches his body weight from one leg to the other and breathes heavily. "Rigby, you-"

"Okay, maybe I liked it. So what?"

"It pissed me off, dude. Margaret's Margaret. You two have nothing to do together." He brushes off Rigby's earlier statement, conscious of his now awful amount of nerves.

"Well, maybe you have nothing to do with her either, do you? Maybe that's why she keeps avoiding you, right!? And you're so blind you can't see that you get pissed off when I-" he shakes his head as Benson's voice comes from the background's sudden silence; grabbing the phone by reflex, Rigby answers calming himself down and closing his eyes. "Hi, Benson."

"Guys? _Bzzz_ " static. " _Bzz_ \- Guys? _Bzzz_ \- to take the cart to the dump!" More static. " _Bzz-_ or you- _Bzzz_ \- two are fired!"

Rigby rolls his almond colored eyes blank refusing to stand up. Hastily, Mordecai leaves the room giving his back to the short haired boy sat nearby the table, who slowly starts to shake in rage.

-

"I'm tired" Rigby protests, "are we gonna keep heading South? It's like we passed the dump miles away!"

"Shut up."

"I wanna go back, Mordecai..."

"We're almost there."

"But-"

"I've got to do my work. You should, too."

Rigby shudders out of his snooze as the blue haired slaps the handle of the cart twice, giving up and stopping the vehicle to the side of a street in front of a restaurant with a notorious lack of costumers. Actually, make that a _massive_ lack of costumers. It seems like they're alone in the whole freaking town.

Mordecai gets rid of the seatbelt and the cart, walking through the parking lot dragging his feet, rubbing his temples, closing eyes once the sliding glass doors of the store open, and freezing air conditioner embraces him. His thoughts are shaken by the annoying ten year old screaming across the place and his mother yelling at him in response; a small group of teens against the corner chattering and snickering way too loud, plus the obnoxious waiter who pulled the back of his shirt to ask where he'd like to sit.

"Nowhere in particular."

"And your friend?" the boy points Rigby out, who sits moody and alone in a table in the middle of the place and shouts; "He's not my friend! Friends don't behave like they're not your friends!"

"Shut up, asshole! I can't even take a soda without you being around, you realize that?"

"Screw you, Mordecai."

"I'm not even hungry," he mutters. "Sorry, kid" Mordecai waves the waiter off and walks out tugging glances from the curious strangers. Rigby stays inside with a menu covering his face, boldly snapping it down once Mordecai's gone.

-

"Skips, I need a ride."

Mordecai's face gets enlightened by the last rays of sun; his hair a deep shade of blue, his eyes squeezing shut. The breeze plays with him, he rolls his shoulders. A moment of silence he wished to last forever in which the mainstream of what he called 'escape plans' washed away any doubt or weakness he had. Mordecai's responsible; of his job, of his life, of his friends. He can't think of Margaret as more than a friend, and he can't think of Rigby as more than a friend either. Anymore, anyways. He rubs his eyes. He hates making bold decisions.

-

Rigby feels weight upon his shoulder when he unburies his head from between his arms, and straightens up. Not sure enough of where he is, the smell of oily french fries is still there. He doesn't remember eating since morning, and only Mordecai's rumbles are in his memory as the ones that brought him alive from his hangover. It had been such a night...

He had grabbed Margaret's waist to his own, embracing her. He had ground against her, closing his eyes to bite some lips that weren't _Mordecai's_. He'd make love to her not seeing a damn thing, having those thoughts -again-; the thrusts became violent as Rigby bit his tongue to stop himself from murmuring his best friend's name.

"Sir?"

Rigby winked rapidly.

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Uh... Uh" he cleans off a thread of drool from the side of his mouth and crawls away from his seat, ignoring the young cleaning girl from the restaurant. "'M okay. 'M okay. Wait, where's Mordecai!?" The girl cocks an eyebrow at him. She moves away.

-

Rigby spawns in the middle of the parking lot, sprinting fast towards the dirty route and sky at dusk. The silence answers him.

"Mordecai...?" he's huffing. A wind tugging clouds through the sky.

-

"You shouldn't dump a friend, Mordecai."

"Screw it, Skips. I couldn't stand it anymore."

"You _shouldn't_  dump a friend, Mordecai."

Skips' the kind of guy that gives less advice than he should and frowns upon whatever he thinks of being wrong. Maybe daydreaming about guys is wrong for Skips, Mordecai reasons. He should have kept his thoughts silenced and don't bring the subject on if he didn't want to feel worse than he already does, therefore, he only glances past the landscape and thinks about everything else he has done the day before. Mowing the lawn, cleaning the hose, cutting dead roses, peeking Rigby from the hallway doing his hair, brown locks loose upon his forehead, biting red lips... And, where was he again? Ah, yeah, he's straight, and Rigby wouldn't ever do a guy like him, anyway. Too skinny, too disorganized, too quiet. 

"Do you think I'm a zero, Skips?"

"What does that mean?"

"You know, like, I'll never really bang anyone. Like, a zero from 1 to 10." Mordecai rests his chin on his closed fist and looks out the window. Skips twists his lips.

"You know Rigby isn't right in the brain. It'll take him some time to realize what he wants."

Mordecai takes a deep breath and releases it all of a sudden, like something has hit him. He sees scenes of last night, when there was a blonde guy sitting across the room and his eyes flickered looking at him; blue eyes, squared motive T-shirt and a big- He stops. Rigby was near Mordecai. He glared at him. Why didn't Mordecai remember seeing that? Why did he ignore his best friend?

"I'm gay, Skips."

"I know."

"What- How?"

"I know many things I won't talk about, Mordecai. The house's alone tonight. Why don't you two take your time to have a chat and clear all up? You dumped your friend, after all. You gotta fix things. I'll park here" before the blue haired boy can realize it, Skips pulls over at the street surrounding the park and makes him walk alone through the field where butterflies and couples are making out under an indigo sky. The dusk opens above him, and he stares at the ground.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Sure, Thomas. You can go with Skips. Pops' waiting in the country house."

"Benson" both boss and intern turn around. They're heading outside the park with their stuff in bags, work shift ended, and encounter an alarmed Mordecai with bags under his eyes. "Something went wrong, Rigby isn't in the house."

"I told you two to dump the cart" Benson pinches the bridge of his nose. "You can never do anything I ask you to do, can you."

"I can't find him" Mordecai's voice sounds broken, "I don't see him anywhere 'round."

"I don't care, Mordecai," Benson tugs Thomas along with him, "I suggest you head back to the house and make sure tomorrow morning I don't get to see that freaking cart around."

"But, Benson! Rigby just-"

"I DON'T CARE! JUST DO YOUR DAMN JOB!"

Mordecai wraps his arms around his torso and mutters to himself "screw you, Benson" retreating, slowly fading away in his stroll to the house, blending with the landscape; stars shimmer bright like they're sprayed across the galaxy, wind caressing the trees' leaves, goose bumps appearing on the skin of the slacker.

He lies down on the floor, tossing his arms by his sides and blows swirls of smoke that sway until reaching the ceiling. The windows are closed. The strong smell invades the room quickly and the hallways of the ancient house as well, Mordecai wonders how far away must he be -how far away and how close they once were. Now Rigby's face is everywhere; on the walls, on the floor, on the door that leads to their closet. Closeted feelings he has. He smiles, numbed by drugs, counting the reasons of why he's gonna quit the only job he's had with his best friend, and all the people he'd be letting down.

Nothing much he can do for them, he speaks to himself rolling to a side, curling into a ball next to Rigby's trampoline bed. A hushed murmur abandons his half open mouth while trying to sing. Stubbing out the thin cigarette, reality becomes a dark blur and everything starts to spin, feeling bitter sweet sleep kick in.

-

He drove. He didn't know for how long, but he drove fast and not liking the wind hitting his face a bit. Neither the war in his head, unable of making up his mind, the ruckus of the drive-way and vehicles passing by fast. Streaming down a road he has never traveled before. Going directions he's terribly afraid of.

He shakes his head 'no' after the siren of an ambulance makes his thoughts come back with a leap and a bound realizing he's already in downtown. Clear sky, warm weather, the perfect night to visit a hip club and chat with someone; someone whose face is clearly that of _him_ , the one that has ditched him in some dirty fast food restaurant in the middle of fucking  _nowhere_ , who flirted with some random guy at Margaret's party. How does he _dare_  be so obvious like that? They were together! He thought that was pretty clear, you don't go picking up guys when you're with your... Your... Er, best friend? But then again, who's Rigby to stop Mordecai from flirting? He has been told to stay away from Margaret, but, he was onto guys, too? Ugh, he's tall, indie, handsome...

No. Get a grip of yourself, Rigby. We're not having this discussion all over again. Mordecai's a jerk. You stay away from him. You stay away- Aye, why are you going towards the park!? Why did you go pass that park? Turn back! Mordecai doesn't even like you, he wants Margaret! That's why he got pissed off in the first place and- STOP TALKING!

"Rigby!"

"Huh?"

Eileen waves at him from the block he has just passed. He turns his head, slowing down the cart.

"Is it a good time? Margaret says hi, she's at the phone."

Oh, shit.

"I- I've got to take the cart to the dump, Eileen."

"Really? The dump is the other way, though."

"Well, I'm not taking it to the usual dump!"

"Okay" she smiles, shyly. "I didn't see you last night. Did you leave earlier? I really wanted to dance with you along those disco jams."

"Ah, ha," he brings his hand to the back if his neck. "I guess it'll be next time."

"What about tonight? There's a party at a friend's house. We could go together."

"There's something that I seriously have to do, Eileen. I'm sorry" Rigby turns on the cart again lowering his head. "I hope Margaret does great in college. Tell her I said that."

"She's going next week, however. You still have time to do it yourself."

"And tell her I'm sorry."

"Rigby, wait- Why!?"

The cart fastens as Rigby speeds up. A group of foreigners surround her as they enter the cafeteria; she has to work for the rest of the night. No party, no Rigby. It only makes Rigby feel way worse.

-

Mordecai's moleskine has owned since they came to the Park's abandoned on the kitchen's table. It has sketches, drawings that the undergrad had developed during his failed college year at art school, and other thoughts Rigby never dared to read. Mordecai keeps it away at all times, warning Rigby that he would stain the pages if he touched it, or tear it with his clumsy fingers and other wicked disasters- but what's so important about it? An old, used moleskine. Right, like it would mean anything to Rigby. He has zero skills when it comes to art.

The guy parks the cart in the back of the house. People's starting to leave the place, leaving empty patches of grass and sleepy hobos lying on the white benches with their long, messy beards and wise, crazy ideas. Random talks about birds that Mordecai and him laughed about during the time they cleaned those benches. White benches. 

He dreamed something last night, doing things under a tree, a guy on a white bench. Just talking about life and such. Back when everything was alright, and they only fought for the remote control or for who'd be Player One in video games. He knocks on the door of the silent house with weak knuckles, the glass of the door shaking slightly.

There are no lights but heavy air, filled with lavender deodorant and funny scent of ashes intensifying when he reaches the stairways. The moleskine is lying on the table by a side of it. He grabs it lazily and flips some pages with written lyrics of songs they both know. Others Mordecai has written.

His fingers trail some sketches of trees and flowers. "Benson? Pops?"

"..."

He encounters drawings of people they know, his family, his childhood friends, places he has gone to. His best friend. Himself. Himself in most of the pages- Rigby sighs.

He hears a noise coming from the stairways. "Skips? Is that you?"

"About time you came back" a voice speaks low and confident behind his back. Rigby turns his head, shivering at the sight of the tall guy with liquid darkness in his eyes.

"You ditched me!"

"Last night, Rigby" Mordecai approaches. "Last night I was so wasted. So wasted because of you. D'you know what's worse?"

"W-what's going on? Don't scare me, man..."

"Every single day. Every single day struggling with having to act like we're friends when you have no idea what kind of images go through my mind when I see you naked."

He's so close to the short guy that his sweet, heavy and warm breath reaches Rigby's face, his ears getting hot with panic and something else he can't control. A blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks, his black pupils dilating so he can glare at his best friend in the dark and see him clearly.

"You don't even know how hard it is for me to stop myself from stupid, simple hugs. To stop you wriggling against me when we fight. Jokingly? Screw that, I don't even know how am I controlling myself right now- And then, you choose the girl I force myself to like so I don't have to deal with these stupid feelings, and everything just blows up."

Rigby hugs himself, biting at his bottom lip. His eyes are wet -because of the smoke of the room, right? Or maybe a piece of dust has gotten under his eyelid, yes- he rubs it with his clenched fist. He doesn't notice his nails are starting to leave marks in his palm from pressing too hard. But he does notice his heart pumping hard and fast, and the slow but hard grip of Mordecai's arm surrounding his waist, a move so smooth that makes him feel saved from a danger he had been in the whole day, maybe the whole week. Months. A year. A whole eternity. "And then you say 'you're so cheesy', like yeah, you have no fucking clue, we're just buddies."

"Stop. Please, stop talking. I really don't know how to-" Rigby frowns, "face these things, I just..."

"It can't get much worse than this, Rigby. I'm already ten levels under... This has been hell since the day we got here."

Rigby gasps. His lungs feel like exploding, words stirring his soul.

"Look, I- I..." He closes his eyes shut, pretending there aren't tears. Pretending he's not trembling, pretending he's gonna make it sound so light-hearted as everything he says is. Pretending he won't regret this. Trying to make Mordecai choose a better way of life, trying to correct his path when his own path is a complete disaster. He takes a deep breath and exhales sharply, clinging as he is to Mordecai's shoulders and lets it all out. Perhaps it won't even matter by the morning. Perhaps he will stop seeing him in dreams at night.

"Say it. I don't really mind," Mordecai's lips play with Rigby's locks of hair falling above his ear. "Say how you don't want this to happen. I'll be somewhere else tomorrow, I promise. I'll leave you all alone. I won't be a bother anymore, say you don't want me."

"But Mordecai, I..."

He inhales, and his voice is tiny.

"I do. I do want it, you jerk."


	3. Chapter 3

He's letting go all of himself for a few bites, few licks in which he puts every bit of his effort in the twists of his tongue in a wet, hot tango of touch and smiles as he does it, very conscious of every rasp breath Rigby takes, of his fast-pumping heart and steady rhythm.

The waves of sound become hypnotizing for the shorter guy, who wriggles in desperation and shakes like a sheet of paper at the stimulation and mild pressure; the taller guy embracing him, surrounding and protecting with his arms. His ego grows wild; something he needed to feel before doing anything of this, a sudden boost, that takes Mordecai to draw his lips from the tanned neck towards the chin; and kiss his best friend in his mouth; a damp, sweet peck on the lips.

They step apart. Rigby looks at him with pleading eyes, shinning dark, brown pupils. The freckles written across his upturned nose darkened by the lack of light in the room, both covered under the living room's ceiling.

"Wanna go upstairs?"

Rigby chews at his bottom lip, nodding his head along Mordecai's. They both get away from each other, the taller letting Rigby walk up first.

Could he see through those doubting steps a deep love for him? Truth is, he couldn't. He brings a hand up to his shoulder.

He had made him promise he belonged to him, even before they got to be like this. Before they became friends, Rigby made him feel like there were no longer cliffs everywhere he stepped. Eyes in love, he fell so deep, so blind, so childishly selfish for him. He takes his hand.

Everywhere in the house, the calmness, the silence, is quickly replaced by the sound of wet kisses. The shared, fast heart beating stumbles through the walls, echoing; time itself becomes a dumbfound concept when evening hits the window of open curtains, once Rigby lays before him, almost trembling, and Mordecai just glances at paradise. He approaches to his bed and takes Rigby by his waist. He's eager enough to push.

"What do I..." Mordecai words, breathless. He searches for a sign in Rigby's eyes. The shy guy chuckles with a sigh.

"Just fuck me, dude."

"Y-yeah, just..." Mordecai shakes his head, anxious. "I... I don't want to hurt you, though. Ugh," he closes his eyes smiling.

Rigby grinds against him again, whining loud at the seductive, intentional touch. Mordecai grabs him and pushes harder in response, rubbing his groin, huffing; filling their shared room with the soft sounds of them both getting hard. They aren't fucking. This is nothing like the sex he's had before. All the sex Rigby would have had before.

He buries his head in Mordecai's shoulder between his locks of hair, and fills himself with each particle of his essence. He remembers his smell, the times they've played like this before as a joke, and then the warmth of the body upon him numbs him, pressing hard.

"Ha..."

"Hm?" Mordecai stops his lips on Rigby's temple.

"This is..."

"D'you like it?" The blue haired trails his mouth down Rigby's cheek, neck and chest stopping beneath his belly button. He feels the high pitched breath and sorts the most sensitive spots, getting lost within the moans leaving his best friend's throat. Rigby shivers with the feeling of Mordecai's tongue.

It's an epiphany to him; the tease of tender, careful caresses, and as a name leaves his mouth his eyes aren't closed anymore. He's an explorer, a discoverer for that matter, of what he was waiting to see. Of his own fantasies. He calls for Mordecai again, at last.

 

-

"Excellent, excellent" Pops greets Thomas and Skip, dressed in what looks like a brownish tailcoat. "Where's Benson? They're about to serve dinner! Oh, what about Mordecai and Rigby? Those two _love_ fonts of soda, they have one here!"

"Sorry, Pops, Mordecai and Rigby had problems to resolve. Benson had a job meeting" Skips speaks. "I brought Thomas" he picks the distracted boy from his black plain shirt's back and makes him walk up to Pops.

"Hi, Pops."

"Thomas" the old man with aspect of lollipop nods solemnly, "you aren't wearing the proper clothes of an event of these people's notch. Dad would be not pleased to see you like this. Skips! Park Carmelita somewhere safe! I'm taking Thomas to the wardrobe."

"Right away, Pops" the big man skips past the door of the white painted building of the country house. A beeping sound interrupts him in his tracks as Benson's voice comes.

"Skips, are you there?"

"Yes, Benson."

"Do you think you can dump the cart before tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah."

Benson nods in silence, thing Skips can't see but imagines.

"Sometimes they're like kids, I swear."

" _Our_ kids, Benson." Both smile. "Good luck with Audrey, boss."

He cuts off the communication, gazing up at the darkness surrounding the stars. They're brighter tonight.

-

 

It's a light dawn. Under the dense, violent fog of clouds smudging tints of violet and orange, Mordecai surrounds the guy resting across his chest, asleep; the warm face of red cheeks curving its lips up. He looks at him and runs a hand through the brown hair with blonde highlights.

Rigby matches the sweet harmony of their room, lightened with a small lava lamp; back bare only for his sight.

"Dude."

"Hm."

"Are we still best friends?"

"Of course, dude."

They smile. Rigby punches his arm.


End file.
